


You Know, We Don't Stand a Chance

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy starts a soccer team because he assumes it will be a fun thing to do with friends.</p>
<p>It turns out he's right, just not in the way he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know, We Don't Stand a Chance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a giveaway fic for [sare-rah](http://sare-rah.tumblr.com), who wanted a college AU where Bellamy and Clarke were leaders of rival clubs who had to work together. I spent a while failing to come up with clubs, and then tried to remember what I did in college, which was "start a really shitty IM soccer team." So write what you know, I guess.

By spring of his freshman year, Bellamy feels like he has a decent handle on how college works, which is why he decides to start an intramural soccer team. He played some IM hockey during the winter, not in an actual, official capacity, but subbing in on Miller's team when someone else canceled, and it had been his kind of fun: fairly laid back and everyone got drunk after. 

So when he sees the signup email for IM soccer, he figures it might be cool. He played soccer back in elementary school and always basically liked it. He wasn't even half bad, for a ten-year-old, and the only reason he stopped was that he started needing to look after Octavia once their mom got another job. He certainly has way more experience with soccer than he does with hockey, and, seriously, everyone knows how to play soccer. It's not going to be hard to get a team together.

That part, at least, is true. He emails a bunch of his friends and dorm mates, and within twenty-four hours, he has enough names that he can submit a roster to the girl organizing the league. 

Their first game is scheduled two weeks later, and to say it goes poorly would be a massive, massive understatement.

Bellamy's team, The Argonauts, is basically every ragtag underdog team in every sports movie every made. He and Miller are the most athletic of the bunch, but Miller is a swimmer, and Bellamy doesn't actually play any real sports, just goes to the gym with some regularity and finds running relaxing instead of horrible, which Octavia tells him is a sign of serious mental issues, like she doesn't do martial arts and get beaten up for fun.

Aside from that, it's just a bunch of Bellamy's random friends, all of whom know how to play soccer in the sense that they know the goal is to get the ball into the other team's goal and they aren't allowed to use their hands to achieve this. Gina says she played until middle school, when you had to actually try out to be on a team, which isn't encouraging, and Miller's boyfriend asks if this is the one that's called netball in England, which--Bellamy doesn't even know where to start with that. Echo has heard she's allowed to tackle people, and Bellamy has to explain it's not _tackling_ tackling, just using your feet to take the ball. Or something.

Bellamy's also not totally clear on how the whole thing works, but he assumes it's fine. They'll learn as they go.

Except the other teams? The other teams are _good_. Apparently the IM soccer league is made up entirely of people who could have played soccer for the college team, except they're playing different sports instead, and this is how they get their fix of activity in the spring. The Argonauts have the second game of the first afternoon, which means they get to see the end of the previous one wrap up, and it's--

Honestly? It's fucking _terrifying_.

"That guy just hit the ball with _his face_ ," Bryan hisses.

"He hit it with his head," says Gina. "You're supposed to hit it with your head."

"Anything but your hands," Bellamy agrees. One of the goalies makes a save that is actually inspiring, and would definitely be replayed in slow-motion on TV, and he winces. "Uh. We might not be the ragtag bunch of misfits who perseveres in the face of adversity, guys."

"You think?" asks Miller.

"Just--no one die, okay? New goal. No one dies."

"I'm definitely going to die," Bryan says.

"Yeah," says Bellamy. "Same."

They quickly develop a reputation as _the bad team_ , which Bellamy is largely fine with. His ego isn't particularly tied to being good at IM soccer, and it's kind of fun even though they're terrible. Plus, every now and then they'll actually score a goal on an opposing team, which really, really pisses them off, because Bellamy's team is so obviously the worst, they think anything other than utter domination is humiliating. 

They finish the season dead last in the league and have a party to celebrate how much they suck, and Bellamy figures, well, it's still basically a good time. They could definitely do it again next year.

*

Sophomore year, the Argonauts don't get _better_ , but they do get weirder. Anya, who runs the league, knows what they're about and seems to kind of enjoy them, so she hooks Bellamy up with her list of people who want to play but don't have actual teams. They pick up Dante Wallace, a biology professor who thinks soccer will keep him young, Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, a couple freshmen who think it will help them develop muscle tone and be more popular, and Octavia, who isn't on Anya's list, but when Bellamy asks if it's cool for his sister to be on the team even though she's not a college student, Anya says she couldn't possibly care less.

None of these changes make them a better team, but they do add some variety to what kind of bad team they are, which is at least cool. It's always nice to discover new ways to suck, and the Argonauts excel at this.

And then, junior year, Clarke Griffin shows up.

Before he met Clarke, Bellamy would have said it was impossible for his team to have a rival, because they're terrible, and terrible teams don't have rivals. They finish dead last every year, and their standards for scoring a moral victory dropped from "score at least one goal" to "prevent at least one goal being scored on us, through luck or skill, but probably luck." 

The thing is, the Griffins are _also_ terrible. Like the Argonauts, they are a ragtag bunch of misfits led by someone with only a rudimentary understanding of the sport, and their only goal seems to be to get out on the field and have a good time.

"And you hate them," Octavia says, looking dubious.

"I'm just saying, that's our thing. They're stealing our thing."

"So do you want to be better than they are or worse?" asks Gina. "What's winning here?"

"Showing them," Bellamy says, petulant.

"Showing them what, exactly?" asks Miller. He has the worst friends. None of them _understand_.

"We're the shitty team in this league. They're not taking this from us."

"Yeah, god forbid we're not the shittiest team," Miller says. "How fucking dare they."

Bellamy scowls at him. "You know what? Fuck you, Miller."

"Healthy, proportionate response," says Miller, and he gives up.

It doesn't help that Clarke is just as weirdly and incoherently competitive as Bellamy is. And he thinks, at first, that she won't be. After all, what are the odds that the other terrible team will _also_ care about being terrible? It's ridiculous enough that he cares.

It's the second week of games before he actually meets her; up until then, it's just the other teams saying that the Griffins are going to give them a run for their money at being the worst, and Bellamy figures when they finally do go up against each other, it'll be basically friendly, and everyone else will make him feel stupid about being threatened by the whole weird mess.

Instead, Clarke Griffin is a cute blonde in a bright green t-shirt and impossibly short shorts, and she plops down next to him before the game starts.

"I hear you're our rivals."

Bellamy squints at her. She's got a mole on her lip, and her wavy hair is pulled back from her face in a messy braid. From what he's heard, she's a freshman, and her team is the one of only ones in the league--again, aside from his--that's primarily female. They have yet to score a single goal, which is a shame, in terms of girl power.

"Like you could ever suck as hard as we do," is what he ends up saying to her, because he's got a _brand_ , okay? This is his thing, and Clarke Griffin isn't allowed to steal it.

"Please, we suck on a level you can't dream of achieving. I hear you guys score goals sometimes."

"Not on _purpose_ ," Bellamy says, and she snorts.

"We can't even accidentally score."

"Wow. Bold admission. Have you tried frat parties?"

"Very funny."

"I'm just saying, even a broken clock is right twice a day. If you guys aren't scoring at all, maybe you're not trying."

She squints at him, wary. "Are you accusing me of pretending to be bad at soccer?"

He shrugs. "I'm just saying, really sucking at soccer--it's an art. Not anyone can be as bad as we are. It takes a true lack of natural talent."

"And you think we don't have the total lack of natural to be the worst team in the league?"

"Nope."

"Well, may the worst team lose, then," she says, offering her hand, and Bellamy shakes.

"I'm sure we will."

Their first game, no one scores at all, and they go into extra time, and then a shoot-off, and no one scores during any of those either. Raven, on Clarke's team, actually hits the ball into the goal, but Monty sort of throws himself at it and manages to get hit in the face, which both prevents the goal and gives him a bloody nose.

The whole thing is probably the best any of them have ever played. Someone nearly scored, and a goalie prevented it. It's almost like they're real athletes.

The ref, who actually knows how to play soccer and isn't bad at it, tells them it's a tie game in the tones of someone who is going to go home and drink heavily after this. Which Bellamy can relate to. That's his plan too.

"Still think we're just pretending to be bad?" Clarke asks, falling into step with him as they head back to campus.

"I never said you weren't bad. Just that you aren't as bad as we are."

"You guys have been playing for two years, right? Obviously you're going to develop some amount of skill. Just from practice. There's no shame in finding that a new, rookie team is worse than you are. It's natural to feel threatened, but--"

He has to snort. "Nope, sorry, not buying it. You just realized you couldn't be the best, so you might as well be the worst. And you didn't know we had that all tied up. So just--settle for mediocre, okay?"

"Which team has actually scored goals this season? Oh right. You guys."

"One! Jasper's shoe was untied and he fell into their goalie. We don't even know who got the ball into the goal. It might have done it by itself."

Clarke bites her lip on a smile. "Still."

"We'll see who comes out on bottom," he says, and her mouth tugs up.

"Yeah, I guess we will."

*

Bellamy keeps up with the Griffins out of general curiosity, even watches some of their games, when he shows up early and they're using the field. Clarke's probably the best player; she seems to have a basic understanding of tactics, and she's able to kick the ball and have it reach the place she wants it to go about seventy-five percent of the time, from what he can tell. Raven's not bad either, although both of them seem to view soccer as primarily an excuse to kick something as hard as they possibly can. Which, honestly, Bellamy can respect. He likes kicking things as hard as he possibly can too.

During their second game against the Argonauts, Clarke actually scores a goal, and it's--hilarious, honestly. She looks genuinely shocked, and then the entire Griffin team is on top of her, celebrating their first ever goal. Even Bellamy's smile is genuine; they really do suck, he has to give them that.

"I tried to catch it," Monty says, which is his standard line every time he lets a goal through.

"I know," says Bellamy. "It's cool. I keep telling them they're better than we are."

"Good pep talk."

"Oh, yeah. Uh--good job, you'll get the next one. You're definitely--more than you used to be."

"Great."

"Really. Yeah, you didn't stop the goal, but you also didn't get hit in the face with the ball."

"Is that really an improvement?"

"As always, the team's number one goal is that no one dies. So, you're doing your part."

Monty snorts. "Thanks, coach. You're just happy they scored on us before we scored on them."

"That too. Keep up the good work."

He ends up walking with Clarke on their way back, even though her team is still celebrating their first victory. He and Clarke almost always walk back from the field together if their games wrap up at the same time, without either of them seeming to mean to. He's learned that she's bisexual, majoring in art history, plays no other sports, and started doing soccer because, like him, she assumed it was kind of a casual, fun league, instead of a bunch of cutthroat jocks who take the whole thing way too seriously.

Well, and the Argonauts. Who now take the whole thing too seriously, but in the exact opposite way. And that's really just Bellamy. And it's half Clarke's fault.

So obviously that's fine.

"Congratulations," he says.

"Don't get used to it, we still suck."

"No, that was genuine. Scoring your first goal is really exciting. Good job."

"It's not quite as glamorous as if I tripped and accidentally punched Monty in the face, but having the ball actually go where I wanted it to when I kicked it was pretty cool too."

"Yeah, what's that like?"

Clarke laughs. "I've seen you pass to people, don't pretend you don't know."

"Fluke," he says.

"No, that's not it. Your issue isn't aim. I'm not saying you don't suck," she adds, when he tries to protest. "You still suck. Just for different reasons."

"As long as I still suck." But he's kind of curious. "So, what are the actual reasons?"

"You just pass to the first person you see, instead of figuring out the best strategic move. I saw you pass to someone on the other team once just because you couldn't figure out what else to do with the ball. You'll also try to take the ball from the other team, and then when you get it, you still don't know what to do with it, so you just kind of--kick it. To nowhere."

It's all true, but it's kind of surprising that she knows. "Stalking me?" he asks, mild.

"Like you don't watch our games."

"Who doesn't love a good trainwreck?"

She smiles. "You could probably be good if you stopped to think about it."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"I'm just saying, you claim you're _naturally bad_ , but I think you could be better."

"Thinking shit through has never been my strong suit." He nudges her shoulder. "You've got the opposite problem."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You spend so long trying to decide where to kick the ball that if anyone's within twenty feet of you, they can just take it." He pauses. "Including your own teammates."

Clarke actually doubles over laughing, and he feels his chest swell. He likes making pretty girls laugh.

"Yeah, Raven and Monroe get impatient with me. If I don't kick the ball for long enough--"

"Someone's gotta do it."

"Exactly."

"Still, congrats on your first win. You guys earned it."

"We're definitely going to let it go to our heads."

"Sophomore year, we had one game when we scored two goals," he tells her. "We had three different parties to celebrate."

"Wow. Two goals. I can't even imagine."

"Their goalie was sick, so they were down a person and had someone different in goal. They still beat us."

"Yeah, but _two goals_."

"We'll pass the story down onto our grandchildren. How are you celebrating?"

"Going to the dining hall." She worries her lip. "You want to come?"

It's not something they've done before, eating together, and the stubborn part of him wants to say no, because she's the _enemy_. On the other hand, she's cool and funny and he likes spending time with her, and he's pretty sure there are not that many people in the world who would get as stupidly competitive about being _the worst_ at something as he does, and he should probably cherish that relationship.

Plus, she's really cute.

"Yeah," he says. "I could do dinner."

*

Both their teams get knocked out in the first round of the final tournament, but Bellamy maintains that the Argonauts retain the title of worst team because they had a lower seed. 

"And you guys beat us. We never beat you."

"Fine, you can keep your title. But we're coming for you next season."

Bellamy grins. "Bring it."

It's a long time until next season, though, and he finds himself kind of missing Clarke over the summer. But he doesn't have her number, and it's not like they're really friends, so he just does his best to ignore it. He has other friends. He talks to them.

He's still profoundly relieved when he gets to his art history class the first day and sees Clarke already sitting in the second row, and even more relieved when she grins and gestures to the seat next to her when he goes over to say hi.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says.

"I didn't know you were an art history person."

"Is that a thing, being an art history person? I'm a senior, I'm finishing off graduation requirements. Are you an art history person?"

"General art person."

"Cool, I'm a general history person, so between the two of us, we should be set."

"So you're not gonna get into a competition with me over who's worse at art history?" she teases.

"I'll only tank non-academic shit." He pauses, grins at her. "I bet I get a higher grade than you do."

She grins back. "Yeah, you're on."

They basically become friends after that, which is great. He finds out she has a girlfriend, Lexa, whom he vaguely knows because she's on the Grounders IM soccer team and is kind of terrifyingly intense about everything, but if Clarke likes her, he's happy for her. It's not like he _just_ wanted to hang out with her because he had a little crush. He genuinely likes her, and he's glad they're friends.

He's not glad when she and Lexa break up just after Halloween; he's never happy when people get out of relationships.

"Just--going different directions," she says. She's on his couch with a blanket and hot chocolate, because Bellamy has gotten a lot of people through a lot of heartache. He knows the drill by this point. "She's--god, it sounds so bad. It's not like I don't want to be wildly successful? I want to do good in the world. So I decided I want to be a social worker instead of a doctor and she was really disappointed, like--I don't know. It became about how much more potential I have and how I could be, like--a surgeon. And fuck that. It's not what I want to do, and it was shitty of her to act like I was downgrading my life, so--" She shrugs. "I want to help people. I think that's a good way to do it."

"Yeah, you're right. Good social workers are so fucking important."

She smiles a little. "You and Octavia had a shitty one, right?"

"The worst. I can give you a list of what not to do." He smiles at her. "I think you'd be a good social worker, for what it's worth."

"Thanks. I know you think I suck at everything, so--"

"Okay, serious conversation over, got it. I'll put on Netflix and tell you you're too good for her every half an hour or so."

"You have this down to an art, huh?"

"Is it weird if I say a lot of my friends have had terrible breakups? That's definitely not something to brag about, huh?"

"I'm not complaining right now." She shifts a little closer, leans against him, and he puts his arm around her, encouraging. "I'm glad we're friends now," she says. 

"Me too."

"But I'm still way worse than you at soccer."

He laughs and squeezes her. "Yeah, whatever. We'll see who loses harder this season."

*

As usual, both their teams are horrible, although he thinks they got a little better. He scores a goal on purpose because he planned it, and the Griffins have three games in a row where they score.

He still assumes Clarke is fucking with him when she says, two weeks before the final tournament starts, "I think we should try to win."

Well, actually, first he assumes she's talking about something else. "Win what?"

"The tournament."

He stares at her. "The _soccer_ tournament?"

"Yeah."

"Why would--what?" He rubs his face. "How would we win?"

"We'd be good at soccer."

"Yeah, that's where you're losing me."

"Okay, I want to preface this by saying that I am completely over my ex."

"That makes it seem really believable."

"I am. I'm actually pissed at her, because she's being a dick, but for unrelated reasons." She scowls. "She was talking about how they'll be the top seed for the tournament, and she can give most of the day off because there's no way you guys will put up a fight."

"She thinks we're going to be the bottom seed?" he asks. "Suck it."

"Focus, Bellamy."

"On what? It's not like she's wrong."

"Yeah, but--look, you're a senior. You're gone next year."

"I'm not _gone_ ," he says. "I've got a job, I'm still going to be in town. I doubt anyone would care if I kept playing soccer. It's not like I'm a ringer."

"Still." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Think about it, Bellamy. It's the--ninth inning? There are nine innings, right?"

He has to grin. "Fuck, you suck at sports."

"It's the end of the ninth--"

"Bottom of the ninth, based loaded. I don't even like baseball, I just know this from _being alive_."

"This is it, okay? Now do you want to do an inspirational montage where we all work hard and learn to be a team and beat the jocks together or not?"

"Aren't we two teams?"

"Between both of us we have maybe, like, five competent players. We need to pool our resources."

"Yeah, okay."

"We only have five good players between the two of us, or you think we should do it?"

"I think we're going to lose no matter what," he says. "But yeah, I think we should do it."

To make her face light up like that, he'd honestly do pretty much anything. "Awesome. Let's talk strategy."

*

"My best players are definitely Raven and Monroe," says Clarke. They're in his dorm with a twelve-pack of PBR and a white board, which Clarke brought herself. He's not sure if she already had it or bought it for the occasion; he could see it going either way.

"And you," he says, raising his beer can to her.

"And me," she grants. "Thanks. I think Monty's a better goalie than Harper?"

It's a tough call because, as always, the race to the bottom is a tight one. "Probably, yeah."

"Your best players are you, Miller, and Octavia."

"And Professor Wallace."

"Professor Wallace? Really?"

"Okay, here's the thing with Professor Wallace," he says, and she grins and leans closer. They should have merged teams earlier; this is really fun. "He's not that much better than Jasper, but he's old."

"You're really selling me on him."

"He's also a professor. So no one wants to get near him when he has the ball, because they think they'll hurt him and get kicked out of school. He's our secret weapon."

"You know, now that you mention it, I do worry about that."

"Yeah, everyone does."

She grins. "Okay, so, you, me, Raven, Monroe, Miller, Octavia, Professor Wallace. Monty in goal. That's eight."

"How many people on a team?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Three more. Plus alternates."

"Are we actually officially merging, or just joining forces in an unofficial capacity?"

"Not sure. What do you think?"

He taps his chin. "Honestly, I think we should just play for whichever team has the worst seed. If you want to get them off guard, we don't want to get good until the finals. So--seed seven throws their game like normal, and we can use the eighth seed to get the Grounders out before they know what's happening." He pauses, clears his throat. "You sure this isn't about your ex?"

"It's about you." He raises his eyebrows, and she smiles. "You deserve to go out on a win."

"So it's a little about your ex."

"Bellamy."

"I really don't care."

"Yeah, but you think it's gonna be fun. You want to see their faces when we beat them."

"What if we don't?"

"Get drunk like always. Same as if we win."

"Then, yeah. Let's do some inspirational training montages."

It's a weird couple of weeks. They're trying to get better without anyone knowing it, which is complicated. The rest of the team is on board, even Professor Wallace ( _especially_ Professor Wallace, in fact; it's kind of creepy), so they pick up some actual _practices_ , and he and Clarke do daily strategy meetings and get drunk a lot.

Honestly, it's the most fun he's had all year, and it's almost a disappointment when the finals actually start. The Griffins ended up in the last seed, with the Argonauts in seventh, and the top seed/bottom seed match is the last one of the first round. It works out pretty well for them; Bellamy's team loses, as expected, but they get in some good practice playing defense without appearing to play defense. Clarke's team comes along to cheer them on, which is, again, normal, and when their game comes, Clarke just says, "Hey, some of the Argonauts are going to play with us because a couple of our regulars are cramming for finals, okay?"

Lexa barely even glances at them. "Fine."

"Cool, thanks." Clarke grins at him. "Team huddle?"

"Team huddle." With one arm slung around Clarke's shoulders and the other around Miller's, Bellamy looks out over the eager faces of their teams. Their _team_. "Okay, guys. This is it. First half is easy. All we have to do is keep them from scoring."

"Just like Bellamy did to me freshman year," says Miller.

"Jesus, a guy thinks you're my boyfriend _one time_."

"He was hot!"

Clarke smiles. "Guys."

"Right. Yeah, keep them from scoring like they're Miller and you're me, being bitter about how single you are."

"So, just like now," Octavia supplies.

"Thanks, O."

"Remember," says Clarke, "all we have to do is score one more goal than they do."

"And we want to score it as late as possible, so they won't be worried about us actually winning," Bellamy adds.

"Another tip from Bellamy's sex life," says Raven, and she and Miller high-five.

"Not helpful," he says, but he's smiling too.

"What does that even mean, in terms of Bellamy's sex life?" Jasper asks.

"We'll explain it to you when you're older," says Raven.

"Shut up guys," says Bellamy. "Hands in. Do we have a new team name?"

"Team Bellarke," says Jasper, and Monty elbows him.

"Griffonauts?" asks Clarke, ignoring them.

"Argiffins," says Octavia.

"Hands in, go team," he says, and they all yell, "Go team!" when they break.

It's at least 75% inspirational.

The plan goes pretty well for a while. Even though it's just an IM league, the games have full, forty-five minute halves, which was one of the first things that tipped Bellamy off to the fact that he was out of his depth when he started playing. But after four years, he's basically used to that, and they go about thirty minutes with no one scoring and the Grounders apparently none the wiser to the fact that their opponents are actually preventing them getting goals using some amount of genuine skill, instead of their usual blind incompetence.

Then, Miller scores.

It's obviously a complete accident, but they have an audience, because they're the second game of the day, so the fourth and fifth seeds are watching, plus the rest of the Grounders and his and Clarke's teams, and there's a palpable sense of horror, from basically everyone, when they all realize that the Griffonauts are actually _winning_.

"Shit," says Miller. He'd clearly just kicked the ball because he didn't feel comfortable having possession of it, and it somehow ended up in the goal. Bellamy isn't sure how it happened. None of them really are. They're better at soccer, but they're still not _good_.

"Good job, Miller," says Clarke.

"Thanks." And then it sinks in, and he's grinning and throwing himself at Bellamy, and Bellamy catches him and hugs back, because _Miller_ scored on the fucking _Grounders_. That's _awesome_.

But it also means they're ahead, before it's even halftime, which was not the plan. The plan was to stay behind, to not seem like a _threat_. And now they're _winning_.

Miller kisses Monty on the temple, sloppy and delighted, and Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look.

They've got a fight on their hands.

On the plus side, Miller's goal was clearly a fluke, so the Grounders still aren't actually taking them _seriously_. And they have an excuse to play harder, because their minor and unexpected victory is a motivation. They're fucking _ahead_. It's unreal.

They're still up one going into halftime, and they spend the first few minutes just sort of staring at each other in blank confusion. He can hear the Grounders yelling, mostly Lexa and Roan, who seem genuinely offended that they're losing. Just like freshman year.

"I can't believe this is working," he breathes to Clarke.

"Right?"

He can't help a small snort of laughter. "So you didn't really think it was gonna happen either. Cool. Glad you were just bullshitting."

"I did! I really thought we could do it. I just--I wasn't sure we _would_."

"That counts as bullshit," he says, and she knocks her shoulder against his.

"Bullshitting for a good cause. You scored a goal against the best team in the league, Bellamy. I wanted you to get that before graduation."

"Miller scored," he says, but his mouth is a little dry. He didn't care. Honestly, he didn't. But--it's weird believing that's really why she did it, this whole ridiculous scheme. He's not sure how to think about it yet. 

So he doesn't.

"Your team scored," she's saying. "None of us would be here if it wasn't for you."

"You're not even on my team."

"I wouldn't have come back if I didn't have a ridiculous rivalry with you," she says. "Come on, who else was going to fight me over who sucked _more_? I don't actually like doing things I suck at, Bellamy."

"There's a dick joke in there somewhere," he says, because it's either that or kissing her.

She ducks her head, laughing, and he thinks it's relief on her face, too, at the break in tension. "You know, I _wasn't_ joining in on making jokes about your sex life, but if that's how you're going to be--"

"So, what's our strategy for the second half?" he asks, grinning.

"I think we should actually try to score. Which I know is new for you, but--"

"Jesus, shut up, Clarke."

She bites her lip, smiles at him, and he thinks he's reading into it, but then she says, "You should probably try more," and then she pecks him on the cheek, right by his mouth. So fucking close to his mouth. "Come on, guys!" she calls, before he can do anything. "Time for Bellamy's last pep talk."

"Unless we win," he says, leaning in close, so just she can hear. They're still not talking about it openly, because--well, they can't, right? No one thinks they can. It would take a miracle. 

"Unless we win," she agrees. "So pump us up."

*

The second half of the game is a lot more stressful than the first. Bellamy spends most of it just throwing himself at the ball, which isn't that effective, but he does get in the way of some passes. Honestly, his team excels at being so bad the other team can't actually play around them, because they never do anything any player with skill would expect.

Plus the Grounders are still kind of terrified that they're going to break Professor Wallace's hip if they get too close to him. They're milking that for all it's worth.

Ontari ties it up in about fifteen minutes, and then ten minutes after that, Clarke and Raven manage to pass the ball to each other and then into the goal, like they're real soccer players.

Which is when Lexa figures it out.

"You're trying to win!"

"Isn't that the point?" Clarke asks.

"You're--you brought in _ringers_?"

"I don't think we count as ringers if we're this bad," Bellamy says mildly.

"It's a competition, right?" Clarke adds. "We're competing."

Lexa's jaw works, but--it's not like they're actually doing anything _wrong_. They're trying to win a game. It's exactly what they're supposed to be doing. They just lulled everyone into a mostly valid sense of security.

"Fine," she spits.

"They're probably going to actually murder us," Bellamy observes.

"Probably," Clarke agrees. "But we scored _twice_."

He grins. "We did score twice. Moral victory."

"We could still win," she says.

"And if we don't, we're still getting drunk, right?"

"So drunk," she agrees

But then, somehow, they really do _win_. Bellamy's still not sure how. They just keep getting in the way of the ball and the players and, well--everything. Monty throws himself in the path of the ball, risking both life and limb, and he's definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow, but it works.

They beat the Grounders, two-to-one.

"Holy fuck," he breathes.

"We won!" says Clarke, and suddenly his arms are full of her. He staggers back a little, but then he gets with it, puts his arms around her and holds on tight. "I got a goal!"

"You got a goal." He nuzzles her hair. "We won."

"You could be more excited. Teamwork! We beat the top seed! You're not leaving college as a sad, pathetic loser."

"No, he still is," says Miller. "Come on, disengage. We've got a lot of hugging to do. Don't hog him."

The whole team _does_ want to hug, except for Professor Wallace, which is good, because he's old and a professor, and honestly Bellamy's kind of worried about breaking his hip too. 

But he never loses his awareness of Clarke, keeps catching her eye, finds her already grinning at him.

He could apparently be trying harder to score.

"So, we have to get really fucking drunk, right?" she asks, tucking herself back into his side.

"So fucking drunk," he agrees. He glances around, but the Grounders have left, so he doesn't feel bad leaning down and pressing his lips against hers. Just for a second. "Congrats on the win," he says, and her smile is bright and huge.

"Yeah?" she asks. She clearly isn't talking about the game.

"Yeah."

She tugs him down again, and this kiss is longer, firmer, and he lets himself relax into her, pulls her close. 

They break apart when the wolf-whistling starts, and he knows he must look ridiculous, with how much he's grinning. He doesn't _grin_. But Clarke's smiling too, so he doesn't know how to stop.

"Say something about how you're sad you didn't get any goals," Clarke prompts.

"I'm sad I didn't get any goals," he says, obedient.

"Well, if you play your cards right, you can still score tonight."

He laughs, has to duck down and peck her on the mouth again. "How long have you been waiting to use that one?"

"Why do you think I came up with this stupid plan?"

He leaves his arm around her as they follow the rest of the team up. "You know I never score in games, right? You really didn't have to work to come up with an opportunity to say that. Besides, what if I'd gotten a goal?"

"Then I'd ask if you wanted to score again."

"You've got it all figured out, huh?"

"Absolutely everything."

They lose to the fourth seed team the next week in spectacular fashion, because they're basically fucked without the element of surprise. They get drunk after that too, and Clarke follows Bellamy home, so he could not care less about the whole tournament thing.

He got what he was looking for.

*

"So, I just got the soccer signup email," Clarke says.

Bellamy juggles his cell and his groceries; being a real adult sucks, but he's getting better at it. He can almost always feed himself, at this point.

"Are we going with the Griffonauts?" she continues. "Is that where we settled?"

"I assume you're going with whatever you want. I don't care."

"It's your team too."

"It's not. I graduated. I'm free."

"I asked Roan if you could still be on the team, and he said you and Miller still counted as actual liabilities, and we can have you."

"Doesn't he know Miller's half of why we beat them last year?"

"That's what I said."

"And?"

"And he still says you're actual liabilties."

Bellamy pauses as he's putting away his tomato sauce. "You want me to come back just so we can beat him at least once, don't you."

"And because I love you and want you on my team," she says, prompt.

"But mostly the first one."

"Mostly the first one," she agrees. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"That's the lie that got me into IM soccer in the first place."

"Lie. Sure. Admit it, you love soccer."

"I'm just saying, if I'm on your team, I'm going to expect to score. A lot."

"No one on my team has ever scored a lot. But I'm sure we can work something out. You in?"

He's glad she's on the phone, because if she could actually see him, the expression on his face would ruin all the suspense he's trying to build by not answering right away. "Yeah, I'm in," he finally says, when he hears her huff in a breath.

"Great, I'm on my way, be there in twenty. We need to talk strategy."

"There is something wrong with you," he says, fond.

"It's gonna be our year, Bellamy."

He has to smile. "Yeah. Definitely our year."

It's going to be true regardless, because he's still got her. 

As far as he's concerned, he already won IM soccer.


End file.
